rain ✧ lrh

3. what's shakin', bacon?

For the first time in his life, Luke Hemmings made the conscious decision to keep his mouth shut.

It wasn't hard, considering the amount of uncomfortable silence that sliced through the air faster than the blood that was dripping incessantly down his face.

In all actuality, he just really wanted a fucking nap.

But Ashton Irwin was there, standing in front of him in the kitchen, his arms crossed as he stared at everything but his old friend leaning against the counter. He truly believed that maybe if he stared at it long enough, the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

Unfortunately for both of the boys, the tiles stayed in their respective place.

They had been standing like this for twenty minutes already. Luke was beginning to wonder if the other boy was ever going to look up and notice that fresh blood was still coming from many different locations on his face. He wondered if he would stitch his eyebrow back up, maybe wipe the blood away from the corner of his mouth.

Just like old times.

But Ashton made no efforts to move, and Luke didn't blame him. After everything that had happened between them, Luke was surprised that he had yet to be kicked out. He knew he probably deserved it anyways.

Finally, Luke cleared his throat, "Could I, uh, get a rag or something?"

Ashton looked up, trying and failing to hide his surprise after hearing the boy speak. However, instead of answering the blonde's question, he retaliated with one of his own.

"Why are you here, Hemmings?"

Luke shuffled his weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortably wincing at the pain. He knew the bruises would be visible by the time he stepped on the ice the next day, "I didn't have anywhere else to go-"

"What about Calum and Michael?" Ashton's voice was quieter, now. It was the first time he had spoken the names in a long time, "Why couldn't they help you out?"

"They," Luke hesitated, "They were unavailable."

Ashton scoffed, "You three never did change, did you?"

"I don't think you want the answer to that," Luke deadpanned.

"So lie to me, Luke."

Luke finally met his eyes; an act of defiance. He grit his teeth as his back straightened against the counter top, and he ran his already bloodied fingers through his dirt-caked hair, "I'm only here to fix this," he pointed up at the gash on his eyebrow, "That's it. That's the only reason."

"I don't really feel like helping the person who ruined my life. I don't even know how you found out where I fucking lived."

"Ruined your life? Don't make fucking jokes, Irwin. You were going nowhere before it happened, anyways," Luke rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I'm not talking about that, asshole," Ashton pushed himself off of his position of leaning against the counter across from the boy and stomped over to Luke.

Luke rose too, and they met each other in the middle of the kitchen, chests heaving in frustration and anger. Ashton pointed an accusatory finger at his old friend, "I'm talking about hauling your beat down ass into your house every goddamn week of my life, I'm talking about having to look your mother in the eye and tell her that you got into another fight on the ice and watch the pain in her eyes."

He looked up, being shorter than Luke, "I'm talking about listening to her cry and you promising her you'd stop, that you'd be better. I'm talking about that."